


OpossumFace

by LadyJaneSlay1554



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Adoption, Fluff, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Misunderstandings, Murderface Deserves Happiness, Murderface Gets A Pet, Opossum, Overcoming Misconceptions, Pet, Rescue, Work In Progress, cuteness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:48:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22904248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJaneSlay1554/pseuds/LadyJaneSlay1554
Summary: William Murderface takes in an injured opossum and learns that like his new pet, he also has some hidden gifts, albeit clouded by misunderstanding.WORK IN PROGRESSCHAPTER 9 IS UP!  Missing:  One opossum, one lead guitarist and one Klokateer!Kudos and comments are LOVE.
Kudos: 21





	1. Roadkill

**Author's Note:**

> I work at a nature center with three opossums. Despite their reputation as crabby pests, they are truly sweet, gentle creatures who live for food, cuddles and sleep. Thought one would make a good companion for Murderface. This one is dedicated to Lily, Fern and Nicole.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a BBQ, Murderface comes across an injured, but friendly opossum.

It looked like a car had just struck her.

Lying on the side of the forested road on the outskirts of Mordhaus was an opossum. She was curled on her side atop the pavement. Her body was stiff, her mouth agape, showcasing jaws lined with sharp, doglike teeth. Her eyes stared off into space. A foul smell hung in the air as William Murderface poked the still animal with a stick.

“Huh. Guessch ya jussch’ got too clossch to the road, lil’ guy.” Murderface stared at the little grey beast. Pickles joined him, a beer in his hand. 

Dethklok was on a post-BBQ stroll through Mordhaus’ outlands sans Nathan, who had stayed behind for the sole reason of it being his monthly exclusive “Burgers and Groupies Day.”

“Hey, lookit dat li’l opossum! She’s so scrawny. Musta be barely gettin’ any snacks from gerbayge cans or…” his voice trailed off as the smell hit him. “Gah! Murderface, let’s get outta here! Dat t’ing reeks.” He ambled off to talk to his nearby band-mates.

Murderface tossed the stick away, still staring at the unfortunate critter. He noticed some movement – it was still breathing! The breaths came shallow and slow, but they were there. What was more, the opossum’s right foreleg was bleeding and bent at an unnatural angle. “Guyssch, come back, I think thissch thing issch hurt. Lookit that fressch blood. I think that leg issch broken.”

Pickles, Toki and Skwisgaar joined the bassist.

“Ja, whats ams dats dere, Moiderface? Looks like yous founds a big rat.” The Swede had never seen an opossum before. “Sure looks like it ams been deads for days. Yuugh! Smells likes it, too.”

Toki wrinkled his nose. He rang his Dethbell, which caused a stirring from the creature. He jumped, surprised. “Oh, wowee! Dat rat ams wakings up! Maybe it ams a zombie…?”

The opossum slowly wriggled her pink nose and blinked her brightening eyes, taking in the musicians. The mouth shut the tiny but dangerous looking teeth out of sight. She clambered sluggishly to stand on her three good legs, holding the right foreleg up lamely, where it trembled pathetically. Her wide-pupiled dark brown eyes met Murderface’s beady green ones. He watched the marsupial in fascination. It was, as Toki had said, kind of like watching a zombie coming back to life. He found he couldn’t look away.

Pickles grinned and giggled. “Hey, dood. I t’ink she likes you!”

Toki smiled and punched Murderface on the shoulder. “A goilfriends for Moiderface – haha! Hey, Skwisgaar – I bets you’d likes her – she has pretty silvers hair, just da way you likes your ladyfriends!”

Skwisgaar made a face. “Shuts up, Tokis. Dis ams nots my types of GMILF.” He tilted his head, reconsidering the newly-resurrected beast before him. The guitarist cracked a small grin. “But she still ams kinds of cute, evens for a giant rats….”

“She kinda looks likes a scary cat – like da ones on da islands wit’ Fatty DingDongs. Cans you sees it?” Toki inquired.

They laughed. Murderface and the opossum kept looking at each other. He reached out gingerly to help the creature lift her injured paw up, shaking as it was, and to his surprise, the opossum nuzzled his hand with her face. Murderface’s expression broke out in a wide smile. He carefully petted her on her back. His stubby fingers glided over shiny, somewhat coarse layers of silver, grey, white and black fur. She nuzzled his hand again. The bassist ventured a small pat on the opossum’s head and was met with the mammal leaning her head to the side. A pleasant expression on her face softened her features.

Pickles smiled, too. “Lookit dat, Murderface – you really did make a friend! I t’ink she wants you to scratch ‘er behind da ears. You know, like a cat. Or a dog.” He swigged his beer.

“Like dissch?” He lightly scratched her left ear. It looked like a black, tiny, velvety crumpled up garbage bag. The opossum licked her chops and relaxed, carefully laying down.


	2. Murderface Takes a Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murderface makes a case for his new would-be pet.

Just then, Charles approached the group in a Dethgolfcart. A Klokateer attended the vehicle as the manager approached the band-mates. As always, Charles wore a tight-lipped expression. “Ah, what’s this? Is that… is that an opossum?”

“Yessch, it’ssch an oposschum and ssche’s hurt.” Murderface wore a serious expression, about to put his foot down on what he wanted. “I’d like to have her leg fixed. We have a doctor and I’m sschure he can help.”

Charles sighed. Another Dethklok debacle in absurdity. Would there ever be a day without one? Or five? Or a dozen? Today, an injured opossum, of all things? Good grief.

“William, what are you going to do with an opossum?”

“Feed her. Take care of her. Ssche likes petssch, don’t you, baby girl? Hey… ssche could be our masschcot!”

“We already have a mascot – FaceBones,” Charles said matter-of-factly. His driver, Klokateer #3030, joined him at his side, ready to help. 

“*RIFF*ing ROBOT! *RIFF* it, I want a pet, Charlessch! You sschitfle us too mussch and thissch little…,” his face broke into an affectionate smile as he knelt on the pavement next to his would-be charge. “…Treasschure… needssch me,” he finished as sweetly as he could. As if on cue, the opossum nuzzled his hand, blinking wide eyes at Charles.

Charles knew that in order to quell a Murderface tantrum, he had to compromise and lay down some ground rules. Sheesh. An opossum for a pet. Leave it to Murderface. He was going to have to get the doctor to inoculate the hell out of that thing before he could feel at ease with it crawling around Mordhaus with the boys. “Fine. You can try having a pet. But we need to quarantine it first and make sure it’s safe and not a health risk.” 

He turned to the Klokateer next to him. “Find some old newspapers and tour shirts and, ah, put them in a big box with a lid. Poke plenty of holes in the lid and put the opossum in the box.”

#3030 nodded. “Yes, sire.” He got back into the cart and motored quickly back to a nearby storage shed, leaving Charles with the group.

“I’ll feed her – ssche’s my pet!”

“She very well might be, William, but until the doctor examines and vaccinates her, I’d like you to abstain from handling her or feeding her. The doctor can also mend her broken leg. I’ll, ah, let you know when she’s ready for you.” As an afterthought, he added, “And how do you know this is, ah, a lady opossum?” Charles squinted at the animal.

Murderface shrugged. “We’ve jusscht been calling her a ssche. I mean, look at that fasschce – jusscht too pretty to be a boy.” The opossum gave Murderface a wide-eyed, sweet look, her injured leg bobbing up and down. “Can the doctor find out if we’re right?”

“Of course. If you want to help, why don’t you, ah, help Jean-Pierre research what opossums eat so he can prepare some, ah, meals for your little… friend?”

Murderface nodded, grinning. “Sschure! Ssche’ll feasscht like a queen!” 

#3030 returned, a sturdy, large Tupperware storage bin and lid riddled with holes in tow. He indicated the nesting materials inside – soft unsold tour t-shirts and shredded newspaper lined the bottom of the bin in a thick blanket. “Your opossum habitat is ready, my lords.”

Charles nodded. “Very good. Make sure you put a, ah, bowl of water in there for it to drink once we arrive back at Mordhaus. I’m putting you in charge of keeping the bin clean. Please, ah, grab the opossum and secure the lid. Put the bin in the doctor’s office. I’ll call ahead to make sure he knows the, ah, whole story.”

“Yes, my lord.” #3030 gently stroked the opossum and picked her up, hoping to God he wouldn’t be bitten. Didn’t these things have rabies, like, all the time?

To his relief, the opossum remained placid, squirming only a bit as she was raised from the ground and deposited carefully into the big translucent bin.

Murderface beamed. “Ssusscch a little lady. SSchee you later, sschweetheart.” He waved to his new friend and blew her a kiss as the lid to the box closed. The bassist straightened up. “SSchee to it that my oposschum is kept warm, sschecure, fed and hydrated,” he commanded #3030.

“As my lord pleases.” Three years working as a Gear and this was his biggest task yet. Temporary opossum caretaker. He used to be the vice-president of a thriving bank. Life takes funny turns when one is a die-hard Dethklok fan.


	3. Doctor vs. Opossum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dethklok's Doctor Madden tries to figure out why and how he can help his new patient.

Charles and #3030 took the opossum to Dethklok’s doctor, Dr. Harold Madden. #3030 opened the bin. One bright-eyed opossum stared back at him. Dr. Madden gave the marsupial one look and burst out laughing.

“Really? An opossum? Is this a joke?” The physician looked incredulously at the CFO and #3030. “Last time I checked, I was a doctor for humans, not a vet.”

“Look, we just need you to examine it and give it a few vaccines. I’ll email you a list and make sure you have the funds to do it all. I suppose the vaccines one would give to a, ah, dog would be just fine. And it needs a small splint for an apparently, ah, broken leg. William would also like to know if this particular opossum is a male or a female. He, ah, rescued it from the side of the road.”

“Did he now?” Dr. Madden glared at Charles, then sighed after a thoughtful pause. Exasperated, he said, “Fine, I’ll do it, on one condition.”

“Ah, what’s that?”

“Does this guy know how to take care of opossums?” Dr. Madden motioned at #3030.

Charles didn’t think so. He wanted to find out for sure. “#3030, what is your background?”

“Sire, I was the Vice President of Camelot Bank in San Francisco for fifteen years before I became a Klokateer.”

“And have you any experience with animals, especially wildlife?”

“Sire, I had one goldfish in fourth grade. His name was Cecil. I won him at a carnival and he survived for two years.”

“You see? This guy is useless.” #3030 visibly slumped, looking dejected. “I want a Klokateer with veterinary experience to be my assistant. Or at least someone who’s experienced with animal husbandry. Or wildlife. I’ll try to do most of the legwork and monitoring, but I’m not going to be that thing’s nanny.”

“Done. Perhaps #3030 here could be of assistance in finding the right candidate. I’ll send them over as soon as I find one. Jean-Pierre and William are compiling meals for the opossum as we speak.”

“Whatever.”


	4. A Scavenger's Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murderface contemplates, researches and procures food for his would-be pet. Jean-Pierre weighs in, too.

As soon as he got back to his room, William Murderface flipped open his laptop and climbed into his favorite overstuffed chair. The bassist was determined that his opossum charge would have the best vittles available. He put on his reading glasses, which also served to block the glare of his computer screen. He pulled up Google and typed in “Opossum Food.” There was a sort of “opossum chow” kibble with “bonus” pieces of dried fruit and mealworms. Sounded like a good start. He printed the page.

He also read that opossums happened to be omnivores. A website read: “Like humans, opossums hunger for fruits, vegetables, meats, and everything in between. They also happily consume insects and have a particular taste for ticks.” What a boon his opossum pal would be if the band ever chanced on a hike. As an added bonus, he realized, that meant they’d never have to worry about Lyme disease as long as his little pal chomped those ticks. 

Murderface grinned, picturing himself and his band-mates beside a prairie, flicking ticks at his hungry pet, who snapped them up mid-air with all the grace of a trained seal catching fish at a zoo show.

In looking at illnesses and interesting facts about opossums, he also found that the little marsupials were pretty much immune to rabies. His future pet was getting cooler and cooler the more he researched. 

He puzzled at the term "marsupial" and looked it up. An informative page read: "Marsupials are animals like kangaroos, wallabies, koalas and Tasmanian devils who give birth to live, underdeveloped young. The young animals stay in their mothers' protective pouches, latch onto a nipple, and feed on milk until they are old enough to venture out of the pouch. Opossums are the only marsupial in North America." Murderface's jaw dropped in delighted wonder.

The bassist went back to his search results and clicked on more websites. He wanted to find out more about what opossums ate. Even though the opossum chow said that it provided all the nutrients his marsupial amigo would need, he still wanted to diversify its diet. He knew he certainly wouldn't want to eat the same thing, day in and day out. Plus, the opossum would need food while the chow shipped. Poor little thing was probably hungry now.

Fortunately, he found out that opossums are one of the least-picky eaters on the planet. Among other things, they seemed to like worms, berries, fruits, nuts, vegetables, insects. These were all things he and Jean-Pierre could easily procure around Mordhaus. He was sure that Dethklok’s chef had most of the essentials in his fridge already. This would be no problem at all. He looked farther down the list of acceptable food. Birdseed, cat kibble – maybe Toki had some leftover cat food from the days when he [briefly] owned a cat? He was sure that the young guitarist wouldn’t mind parting with it for the sake of his opossum. 

Printing off the rest of the relevant pages, he piled them neatly and stapled them together. Taking a red marker and labeling the front page, “Oppossumm Dyit,” he then grabbed a yellow highlighter and emblazoned all of his discoveries. He folded and thrust the papers into his innermost vest pocket. He couldn’t wait to give this list to Jean-Pierre!

He was just about to head out of his room when something made him pause. Murderface wanted to make sure that his new buddy had fresh meat right off the bat. He grabbed his empty trash can (a metal bucket with a handle) and strode out his door. Going outside, he ambled across Mordhaus’ expansive grounds, looking for loose soil and fallen trees. 

His eyes fell upon a rotting sycamore with exposed roots. It had died years ago and crashed to the ground recently courtesy of a storm with high winds. Murderface got down on his hands and knees. He dug with his bucket and hands, reaching into the moist, fertile soil beneath the burnt ground. He smiled, remembering that as a child, he loved playing in the dirt. He had been the neighborhood expert at making (and aggressively serving up) mud pies for (and at!) his childhood friends.

Jackpot.

Plump, cream-colored grubs and writhing earthworms were busy breaking down the uprooted sycamore. Murderface pulled worm after worm from the soil and deposited them in his trash can. He plucked nearly a dozen grubs from the roots of the decaying tree and tossed them into the bucket, too. He didn’t bother grabbing the many ants he uncovered with the other invertebrates. They were much too fast to stay in the bucket. He churned the earth with his stubby fingers, finding as many earthworms as he could. After he’d amassed about four dozen, he stopped. He could order the Klokateers to get more if need be, though he had to admit that he liked hunting for the squirmy things himself, especially knowing that they’d be food for his little treasure.

Murderface smiled as he plopped a few handfuls of dirt into the bucket so the worms and grubs would have some sustenance until they themselves BECAME sustenance for his future pet. 

Getting up with a grunt, he wiped his hands on his shorts and started off towards the kitchen, bucket in hand.

Jean-Pierre gasped as he saw Murderface enter his kitchen, hands filthy with dirt. He peered into his bucket. “Sacre bleu! Master Willyam! Wot a pleasure! Although, please allow me to escort you to my offize? Ze kitchen iz not a plaze for diyrt.”

“Oh, no problem, chef. I jusscht got a few notessch for ya.” Murderface extracted the papers from his vest with his free hand.

“But of course.” The gourmet chef led the bassist to a small room adjacent to the kitchen. It looked like a renovated broom closet, cramped and tiny and smelling of cleaning fluids. Jean-Pierre seated himself behind a shabby desk with a laptop, printer, notepad, pencils, and a few photos. Murderface sat down opposite him. 

“Lisschten, Jean-Pierre, I gotta little animal friend at the vet’ssch – I mean doctor’scch offissche. Sshe’ssch… it’ssch… an opposschum and I wanna make sschure it getssch the right food. I made ya a lisscht of what opposschums can eat. I wassch hopin’ that you might be able to whip sschome sschtuff up maybe twissch a day for the little guy. Or gal. Verdict’ssch sschtill out on that one.” He laid the pages on the chef’s desk. “Ok?”

Jean-Pierre smiled nervously, a grotesque feat for the sewn-together chef. He scanned the papers studiously, flipping through them and running his scarred finger over the highlighted portions.

Murderface watched.

The chef finally looked up, still smiling, but confidently this time. “Table scraps and ze kibble. Fresh fruits and vegetables. Oui, my lord. I can zet zome azide each day, twice a day.”

“Aw, you’re a real pal, Jean-Pierre, ya know that?” beamed the bassist. “Assch exsschtra protein, I’m gonna give you thissch, too.” 

The chef cringed at the sight of the worms and grubs in Murderface’s trash can, but then his face brightened. “Aw, my lord. Zhat was very thoughtful of you. Many thanks. Perhaps a few worms a day, oui?”

“Yeah! Don’t forget the grubssch!” said the bassist as he got up from the rickety chair. “Thankssch a million, Jean-Pierre.”

“Oui, my Lord. I’ll have the meals zent down in ze morning and evening, oui?”

"Oui," responded Murderface as he thrust the bucket teeming with worms into the chef's hands. He left, smiling.


	5. A Happy Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murderface gets a green light and a new friend.

Three weeks later, Murderface got a text from Charles. “Please come to my office. You have a friend who wants to see you.”

Friend…? Murderface furrowed his brow. Maybe a new groupie? That’d be sweet. Or a childhood buddy from school? But he couldn’t think of anyone he’d been in touch with from his old days. Could it be some of the potential bandmates he’d reached out to concerning Planet Piss? His mind kept turning the question over and over in his head: “Who could it be?”

Knocking and entering into Offdensen’s office, it dawned on him as he saw the Tupperware bin. His opossum! His face broke out into a wide smile.

A busty female Klokateer held the marsupial carefully, placing the animal gently into Murderface’s arms. The opossum pawed at the woman’s trailing blonde braid at the handoff. “My lord, congratulations on your new baby.”

“William, you have Dr. Madden and #0206 to thank for your little buddy here. #0206 is a wilderness expert and was a nature ranger for three years before she became a Klokateer. She and Dr. Madden saw to it that your opossum was well cared for, and your little LADY is now clean as a whistle, with all of her shots. She miraculously passed every medical test they gave her. I guess you were right in thinking of this animal as a female. #0206 will assist you in caring for her from now on, too. Just mind her cast – her leg is still healing, but she can still walk around.”

But all Murderface could focus on was his little pal. He nodded at the words being said, gazing at his pet opossum. She clawed lightly at his arm and he took note of her paws, so similar-looking to human hands, the back ones complete with opposable thumbs.

Her broken leg was mending inside a small pink plaster cast. “Little Angel, Get well soon! Love, xoxo #0206 + Dr. Madden” was scrawled across the cast in tiny, neat cursive.

“Nissche to sschee her again.” His awareness of the room returned. “Ssche lookssch great. Thankssch for taking care of her.” The bassist glanced around the room, beaming.

“William, have you thought of a name for her?” asked Charles kindly.

“I’m gonna call her ‘Roadkill Rita.’ Jusscht Rita mosscht of the time, though. Unlessch you’re naughty!” He gave the marsupial a mock-angry grimace. She wiggled her nose and snuggled in close.

“She’s a cuddler, my lord. Rita has been an angel in quarantine,” #0206 said, her hands clasped in adoration. She presented a small black nylon leash and harness set complete with a gold heart-shaped charm and vaccination badges, to Murderface. “You can walk her like a dog if you don’t want to carry her. We can even engrave a nametag for her. She was always trying to explore in the doctor’s office. She can go anywhere you go, except maybe the sauna. Oh, and she loves the water.”

Murderface nodded, stuffing the leash into one of his many pockets. “Thankssch! Oh, yeah! They’re sschuppossched to be great sschwimmerssch! And I can’t wait to walk her around Mordhaussch – thessche thingssch are awesschome at eating bugssch, and I’ve had a big problem with them in my room.” He glared at Charles.  
“Well, ah, William, maybe if you could keep your late night snacking to the kitchen, you wouldn’t have such an, ah, ant and cockroach issue….”

“*RIFF* that – I don’t have to worry now that I’ve got my Rita to sschnack on thossche little pesschts!”

The CFO sighed. “Ok, that’s all for now. #0206 will bring Rita’s bin to your, ah, room. Remember, William – Nathan wants to record your bass lines for “Bloodied Bride” in two hours, so be ready. You can, ah, even bring Rita on her leash. Introduce her to your band-mates.”

Giddy with his treasure finally in his arms, Murderface made his way back to his room. #0206 followed cheerfully behind, lugging the freshly-cleaned bin.


	6. Naptime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murderface and Rita snooze.

Upon entering his room, Murderface glanced around for a place to set the bin for his new pal. He decided #0206 should set it at the base of his mounted knight. A fierce protector, just like him, should stand guard over his dearest treasure as she slept at night. He set the opossum upon his bed and watched her crawl around a bit. She finally turned in a circle once, twice, three times, and lay down, nestling into the heavy cotton, down-stuffed duvet.

“My lord, opossums do like to sleep a lot. Do you want me to move her into her bin, or would you rather I leave her here with you?” asked #0206.

“SSche’sch fine here. I’ll let you know if I need you, sschweetie,” he said, not unkindly to the young female Klokateer. “Thankssch again for helping take care of Rita.” He gave a rare, warm smile.

“Glad I could help out, sire. If you need anything… #0206 at your service.” She inclined her head and exited.

Murderface considered the opossum on his bed. He stroked her lightly, yawning in spite of his excitement over his new friend. A nap would actually be a good idea in light of his recording session that night. He knocked off his boots and clambered onto the bed, being careful of Rita. She stirred and looked at him, then snuggled close to his chest as he reclined, enjoying the textures of his leather vest and soft t-shirt.

“Hey there, doll. Let’ssch have a little nap, huh?” He set his bedside alarm for an hour and fifteen minutes, switched off his lamp and was soon fast asleep. Rita gave his arm an affectionate lick and proceeded to doze off, too. Soon, soft snoring was all that was heard from the pair.

BEEPBEEPBEEP!

Murderface awoke to the sensation of a weight on his chest. Rita was there, sprawled out on her stomach, spread-eagled on top of the bassist. He grinned at his pet, rolling to his side slowly so she fell onto the soft duvet. “Rissche and sschine, Rita!” he said. “I can’t wait to sschow you off to the band.”

The opossum blinked bleary eyes at Murderface, who proceeded to try to maneuver her awkwardly into the harness. It took him a few tries and more than a couple of disgruntled looks from Rita, but finally the bassist managed to get the marsupial into her harness. He clasped the leash onto the top ring of the harness.

“Ok, ready to go. Come on, baby girl.” He tugged lightly on the leash.

Rita gave him an incredulous look. “What? Leave this comfy bed? Are you crazy?” her eyes seemed to say. She blinked in the dim lamplight.

“Ok, let’ssch go, baby,” he said with a bit more enthusiasm. “Don’t you want to meet everybody? I bet you’ll get sschome nice treatssch and sschancks. Maybe eat sschome bugssch on the way? Tasschty!”

With that, Rita rallied and carefully scaled her way down the bed and onto the flagstone floor. Murderface tugged on the leash, and she skitter-thumped slowly beside him, little nails clicking and pink cast clumping all the way to the recording studio. On the way, she managed to catch and consume about five cockroaches, mostly in the vicinity of Muderface’s quarters. He was so proud. His adorable pal just happened to be a walking pest control service. Rita also snapped up some crumbs off the floor during their journey to the studio.


	7. Nature's Garbage Disposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murderface has lots of fun introducing Rita to his band-mates.

Skitter, CLUMP, skitter, CLUMP, skitter, CLUMP.

Murderface and Rita made their way down the stony halls of Mordhaus until they found themselves in the band’s kitchen. The bassist grabbed a can of beer for himself and a plastic bowl for Rita, setting both items on the counter. Looping Rita’s leash on his wrist, he pawed through the fridge for a few snacks for himself and his new best friend. 

Grapes, peapods, carrot chips and blueberries. Muenster cheese cubes. On the counter, he spied some cashews and peanuts. He popped a sampling of everything he’d found into the bowl and smiled at Rita, grabbing his beer. “Daddy’ssch got sschome treatssch for you. Come on, doll.”

Rita sniffed the air, scampering as fast as she could with her cast alongside the bassist. 

Murderface, all smiles, entered the rec room, finding his band-mates lounging on the couch.

“Guyssch, I’d like to introdussche you all to Roadkill Rita. Ssche’s my new pet. Sshe’s an oposschum,” he added, in case they’d forgotten.

The rest of Dethklok regarded their bassist and his new charge.

Pickles was first to come forward. “Dood, dat’s great! I’m glayd you got ta keep ‘er! Looks like she got all patched up, too,” he said, noticing the cast. He knelt down by Rita. “Can I pet ‘er?”

“Yeah, go ahead. Ssche lovessch the attention.” Murderface fed his opossum a blueberry and a cheese cube as Pickles stroked her back and then gently scratched her behind the ears. Murderface handed him some grapes and she daintily ate right out of the drummer’s hands.

“Damn, she’s sweet. Now I kinda wish I had one of deese t’ings, too.” Rita looked up at Pickles, eyes sparkling. She licked her chops.

“Actually, Picklessch, do ya think you could keep an eye on her for me pretty sschoon? I gotta record my Bloodied Bride bassch partssch with Nathan in a bit. I’ll get her handler to come down and you can all pal around. Ssche’s pretty cute, too. #0206.”

“Sure, no problem,” smiled Pickles. “Hey guys – come and check out Rita!” he urged the rest of the band.

“Oh, so dis ams da big rats you rescues, eh, Moidaface?” Skwisgaar walked over to have a closer look at Rita, who immediately sat on his right boot and looked up at him. “Looks a lots mores lively since da lasts times we saws her.” He bent and tickled her under her chin and she nuzzled her face into his hand. “Ah, godis (sweetie),” he intoned softly in Swedish. 

Rita got up and Murderface allowed her to cross the room. Pickles and Skwisgaar walked back, too. Up onto the couch Rita clambered, right onto Toki’s lap. “Oh, wowie!! You ams backs from the deads!” he said in a mock-terrified voice. Rita propped herself up on the rhythm guitarist’s chest and batted at his hair with her good front paw. Toki looked at Murderface, eyes bright. “I thinks she likes mes.”

Murderface stuffed some peapods and cashews into Toki’s hand. “Give ‘er some of thessche. Ssche’ll definitely like you then.” He gave Skwisgaar some grapes to feed to Rita, too. The opossum was on cloud nine.

“Looks at how she holds the foods in hers hands. Likes a person,” Toki marveled.

“Yuh, and she eats everythings we gives her. Wot else ams she eatings, Moidaface?” asked the Swede.

“Oh, bugssch. Wormssch. Ssche killed a few cockroachessch on the way over. Uh, tickssch, ratssch, sschmall animalssch like missche and even sschnakessch. Bread, garbage, pretty mutsch anything,” said Murderface confidently. “Rita’ssch nature’ssch garbage disschposschal, aren’t ya, baby?” 

“Nature’s Garbage Disposal… good song title,” boomed Nathan, striding over. “So this is Rita, huh?” He looked at the opossum, sizing her up. “Hope she fares better than Toki’s cat,” he said.

Toki’s lip quivered. “Whys you gottas says dat, Nat’an?” he said sadly.

“Yuhh, Tokis can’t helps it dat he ams da Grims Reapers. Agains… and agains.” Skwisgaar looked at Toki, who was pouting as Rita made her way to the floor. He decided to stop talking.

Rita ambled over to the vocalist, Murderface in tow. “You wanna feed ‘er?”

Nathan made a face at the bassist. “**RIFF** it, Murderface, I’m not at a damn petting zoo. I…” He trailed of as all of a sudden, Rita lay down and immediately started chomping on her own tail, holding it in her one good front paw and lightly knawing on it with her 50 tiny teeth.

The big vocalist let out a laugh. “Ha!!! I used to have a cat growing up that always did that when he was hungry.” He grinned at the marsupial, rumpling her ears gently. “You’re all right, missy. I guess this idiot can keep you.”

Murderface handed Nathan some cashews and cheese. The big man’s eyes brightened as Rita took the food gently from his hand, piece by piece. “Look at that – she’s so, uhhh, delicate.” She regarded Nathan with wide brown eyes as she ate each morsel. “I guess you really were hungry, little, uh, lady.”

Nathan looked at the wall clock. “Oh, man. Murderface, uhhh, we gotta record your Bloodied Bride parts. Can you hand off Rita to someone else?”

Pickles sprang up. “I got ‘er, Chief. I’ll call Charles and tell him to send dat Klokateer down to give us a hand wit’ ‘er. Go on to da recordin’ studio.” 

Murderface gently picked up Rita and gave her a little hug. “Don’t worry, Rita. I’ll be back in a few hourssch. Uncle Picklessch and Aunt #0206 are gonna take care of ya.” He set her on the floor again, handing the leash and snack bowl to Pickles. “You and the guyssch can feed ‘er the resscht of thessche, but not too quick. If ssche getssch fussschy, give her to da lady, uh… #0206. Ssche helped the doctor get her healthy.”

“Come on, Murderface,” Nathan boomed. “You can see your … uh, girlfriend later.” He chuckled.

Murderface blushed. Now that he thought about it, #0206 DID have a lovely, curvy figure, a sweet voice, and she clearly cared very deeply about her work. Passion like that was admirable. He wondered what ELSE she was passionate about…. He knew he certainly wouldn’t mind seeing her again soon – oh. Nathan was talking about Rita. He laughed nervously and followed the vocalist to the studio.


	8. Beer Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klokateer #0206 arrives on the scene. More opossum cuteness ensues as the band learns more about Rita.

Pickles took Rita’s leash and led her to the couch, joining Skwisgaar and Toki in watching Evil Dead 2 – one of the band’s favorite movies. After he sat down, Rita climbed up his leg and snuggled between Pickles and Toki, who eagerly started petting her again. The smiling drummer gave a few carrots chips and grapes to the Norwegian so he might feed the little opossum. At the rate they were giving her snacks, she wouldn’t be little for long. 

Pickles texted Charles: “MF gone to record bass lines for BB. Plz send #0206 to help opossum-sit. We r chilling in rec room. TY.”

He relaxed with his band-mates and grabbed a fresh beer from the coffee table. Popping open the top drew Rita’s attention. She clambered up onto Pickles’ lap and swatted at the bottle, intrigued by its green color. “None fer you, lil’ lady,” laughed the redhead. “Yer dad wouldn’t like comin’ back to a drunk opossum!”

“I gots her,” said Toki, helpfully grabbing the curious marsupial away from the drummer. She was easily placated by some more snacks and proceeded to curl up on Toki’s lap – this was certainly more activity than she was used to. She yawned. Time for another little nap. Round and round she turned on his lap, bedding down and nesting in his lap. She closed her wide brown eyes.

Enchanted by how comfortable the little opossum was making herself, Toki smiled, petting Rita’s back and neck gently. She reminded him a bit of his late cat and although she didn’t purr or meow or have very soft fur, it was wonderful to have a little creature to pet again. An animal that seemed to trust him. He mentally promised himself he’d be extra-careful with Rita. 

He looked at the little brass heart charm on Rita’s harness. Turning it over gently in his fingers, so he wouldn’t put strain on the snoozing opossum, he examined both sides. They were blank. Toki elbowed the drummer.

“Pickle,” he whispered. “What ams dis hearts for?”

The drummer tore his gaze from the movie as blood splattered across the screen. Ash had gotten ahold of the chainsaw. “Oh, dat? I t’ink Murderface’ll probably get Rita’s name engraved on it. An’ on da other side, his name an’ phone number, so if she gets lost, folks can contact him to bring ‘er back.”

“Oh, dat’s nice. Likes a names-tag.”

“Yeah, you got it.” Pickles took a hearty swig of beer.

Just then, a female Klokateer appeared in the doorway of the rec room. “My lords, I am here to help with the care of the opossum.” #0206 bowed her head at 3/5 of Dethklok.

“Oh, uh, hey dere, #0206. Recognize dis little scamp?” Pickles grinned, indicating Rita.

“Yes, sire. Miss Rita seems to be resting now. I see you have been feeding her snacks from the kitchen. I’m sure you’re all her best friends by now. Did you know that red grapes are her favorite fruit?”

“Oh, wowee, #0206 – I loves red grapes, too,” whispered Toki excitedly, trying not to wake up Rita. 

“Yes, my lord. And she goes crazy for roasted red potatoes with herbs, peas with mint, and steak, especially rare filet mignon.”

“Dat opossums has goods taste!” remarked an impressed Skwisgaar. “Dids she gets four course meals everys day in the doctors office?”

“She ate your table scraps, so very often, yes!” #0206 cheerily informed the Swede.

“Yuh, huhuh,” the Swede laughed. “Maybe Moidaface brings her tos dinner everys night now? She cans be his dates. She gets her own plates.” He joined Toki in gently petting Rita a bit.

“Of course, that’s up to Master William and Chef Jean-Pierre, my lords,” #0206 replied.

“Ah, pull up a chair, #0206. Take a load off. Rita isn’t really doin’ much now, as you can see,” said Pickles, motioning to a nearby overstuffed leather armchair.

#0206 was happy to comply. It had been a long time since she’d sat in a comfortable chair. As she settled in, her trailing blonde braid flopped onto her chest. She didn’t notice, but Pickles did.

“Hey, Blondie – have a beer!” he said with a bit of flirtatiousness as he tossed one at the young hooded woman. 

She caught it, and then the bottle opener that followed. Was this against Klokateer protocol? But Pickles had given her a command – she might as well comply. She was a bit tickled that he’d called her “Blondie,” too. It had been her nickname at her nature ranger job. Beneath her hood, she smiled as she lifted its lower portion to drink. Ah, Heineken. The sure didn’t serve THAT at the Klokateer Cantina. “Thank you, my lord,” she said gratefully as she watched Ash wail and manically chase his possessed hand around the cabin on the screen. The cool beer was very refreshing; an unexpected treat.

And so they enjoyed their drinks as the movie played and Rita snoozed on.


	9. Missing Opossum!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rita, Skwisgaar, and #0206 (Blondie) go missing and Pickles and Toki go searching.

The credits began to roll for Evil Dead 2 when Pickles awoke with a start. He hadn’t realized he was so sleepy, but maybe the beer had helped to knock him out. He checked the label.

Heineken.

Of course – those damn beers were better than sleeping pills – a few of those and he could sleep through Armageddon.

He noticed that Skwisgaar was nowhere to be seen, and Toki was still on the couch, albeit drooling a bit as he dozed. But his lap was empty.

Ah, crap.

Both the opossum and #0206 – “Blondie” – were gone, too.

He felt a pang of guilt – he had promised Murderface that he’d help watch Rita. Where could she be? Mordhaus was such a big place. Why wasn’t Blondie still here? She had been given specific orders to stay with Rita, and the last time he saw them both, the opossum was asleep on Toki’s lap and Blondie was sipping a beer with them….

Well, maybe she had to take the opossum out for a walk. Were opossums trained to go to the bathroom outside like dogs? Hopefully that was what was happening. They certainly HAD fed Rita a LOT.

But since Skwisgaar was gone too, along with the curvy, presumably young and star-struck female Klokateer… well, Pickles could figure out the rest. She wouldn’t be the first, or the second, or the twentieth, or even the hundredth lady Klokateer Skwisgaar had entertained intimately. Too bad Rita would presumably have to watch it all.

Pickles tried to clear his head as he shook Toki awake.

“Toki. Get up. Have you seen Skwisgaar, or dat lady Klokateer or Rita?”

Toki moaned something about cats into the pillow his face rested upon and blinked bleary eyes. “Aw, Pickle. Why you gots to wakes me up? I was having a dreams abouts da kitty-cats ins da….”

Pickles kept shaking Toki, tapping his face with the palm of his hand this time. “On yer feet, Toki. Rita’s missing. D’you know where she, Skwisgaar and #0206 went?”

“Oh! Sorry, Pickle. Musta dozed offs. She – she was rights here! Oh, Rita!” Toki looked around, incredulous and then panicked. “Moidaface will bes sos mad!”

“Well, let’s maybe start off with a text to Skwisgaar.” The drummer typed in, “Where r u? R Rita and 0206 with u???” and sent the message. He stared at his phone, expecting a response at any second.

The guitarist sprang to action. He looked all around the room, lifting up cushions, looking in shelves, behind and under chairs and tables. He couldn’t find his new friend. But she HAD to be around there somewhere.

Pickles looked over at him, looking a bit desperate. “Anything? Maybe ya could text Skwisgaar? He’s naht answerin’ me.”

Toki nodded and keyed in a fast message, sticking his tongue out as he concentrated. “Where amz u? Does you haves Rita and nice lady klokateer w/ you?”

Minutes passed and their phones remained silent and motionless. They both tried calling Skwisgaar but were left with his voicemail, which hadn’t been set up.

Typical.

They began to worry a bit more in earnest. Pickles didn’t want to alert Charles, who would surely notify Murderface. This was on him. He didn’t want to disturb Nathan and Murderface’s recording session – the bass parts would clinch the final parts that needed to be recorded for Bloodied Bride, which was the showcase song on their new album. Pickles took a shot of a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels that sat on the coffee table. He grabbed Toki’s arm. 

“Let’s go. Maybe dey’re in the kitchen,” he said, pulling the Norwegian to his side. They would search Mordhaus and find Rita. It was their mission now.

They briskly walked into the band’s kitchen area and proceeded to open every cupboard and drawer, even the oven (which was thankfully not turned on). Under the table and chairs they looked to find no trace of Rita.

Barging into Jean-Pierre’s gourmet kitchen, they looked up and down for the marsupial and questioned the chef.

“I am zo zorry, my lawds, but Mademoiselle Rita – I ‘ave nouht zeen ‘er. No trace of Monsieur Skwisgaar or #0206. Zey ‘ave nought traveled through my kitchen. But if I zee zem, I let you know, oui?”

“Oui, Jean-Pierre. Merci,” said the drummer. He and Toki made their way out of the large kitchen.

“Maybes we goes down the hallways to our bedrooms, checks everywhere on the ways?” suggested Toki with a shrug.

“Dat’s good, Toki. Prahcess of elimination.”

So down the corridor they went, searching behind each door. Pickles took the left side and Toki took the right. They peeked into linen closets, supply rooms, custodial closets, bathrooms and garbage and postal chutes. Soon, Toki arrived at Nathan’s room and Pickles stood before Murderface’s. They both went in, searched and tried to replace everything as neatly (or as mussed up) as they had found it. Toki quickly checked his own room next and Pickles looked in his, too. 

No dice, no opossum. No Skwisgaar, no Blondie. Soon, only two doors were left – behind one was a set of stairs that also exited outside, and the door to Skwisgaar’s room, which they chose first. The men rapped on the door, steeling themselves to be met by a racy scene upon entering. 

But there was only silence on the other side. They pushed their way in and found a room devoid of humans and opossums. Toki glanced around, making his way over to the window. It was there that he stopped and stared, gasping.

Pickles, who had been checking his phone, put it back into his pocket and made his way over. Skwisgaar still hadn’t texted him back. He followed Toki’s gaze.

What he saw made him grin.

Out in the field facing Skwisgaar’s room, the charming Swede and Blondie were leading the opossum around for a bit of exercise. Six male Klokateers held the Yard Wolves on leashes at a distance, ensuring they wouldn’t bother the little marsupial on her constitutional. 

Relieved, they exited Skwisgaar’s room. Toki and Pickles went outside to join their band-mate. The setting sun cast long shadows as they strode across the field to reunite with their new opossum friend.

“Ya didn’t answer yer texts. We didn’t know where ya went.”

“Yuh, wells, Rita was abouts to takes a craps on Tokis, so we wents out,” said the lead guitarist matter-of-factly. “And I hads to gets the Klokateers to gets the Yard Wolves aways from hers. Ams been very busies since youse twos falls asleeps.” He handed the leash to Pickles. “Yours turns now.”

Pickles held the leash as Rita nosed around the blackened earth, digging into the fertile soil below. She pawed up a few grubs to munch and even managed to lick up a trail of ants.

“Hey, Blondie! Did she, uh, do ‘er business?” he asked #0206, whose braid was still visible, looking like woven gold in the sunset.

“Yes, sire. She was a good girl and waited until we got outside.” The Klokateer blushed beneath her hood. The World-Famous Pickles the Drummer had called her that cute nickname again.

Pickles nodded and smiled as Toki bent down to pet the opossum.

“You makes us so worried, Ritas! Ams glad we founds you all again.” He looked up at Skwisgaar. “You helped takes cares of her, too.”

“Yuh, the Yard Wolves gets plentys to eat, but I wanted to bes safe. Rita ams not for dinners!”

And with that, they watched Rita scour the ground for more treats. Toki and Pickles recollected how worried they had been when Rita, Blondie and Skwisgaar had gone missing and what conclusions they had jumped to. But it had all turned out fine. After about ten minutes, they all headed inside, ready to return Rita to her owner.


End file.
